‘Exactly.’
Anika reaches for the flute and draws in a sip of the crisp, golden, fizzing liquid, concentrating on the sensation as it spreads over her tongue. She decides to change the subject for now, sensing an opportunity – or maybe a risk.
‘Listen, could I ask you something?’
Cam gives her a confused smile, his brow knitted as his mouth widens, exposing his immaculate white teeth. ‘Shoot.’
Anika crosses her bare legs, inadvertently drawing Cam’s attention to them, and clears her throat. He makes no apology for looking, but she wasn’t inviting one. ‘So, I have an opportunity in terms of the job I’m doing at Format. To pivot, I guess they say. I’m hoping to work more on the music or production side of things, and this job has come up at Spin …’
Cam nods. ‘Oh, yeah?’
She gestures towards him. ‘So, I was wondering if—’
She breaks off as Cam draws a breath, his fingers clicking in the air as though he’s about to remember something. ‘Nah …’ He sighs. ‘I know I could just ask, but it’s more satisfying to get there yourself, innit?’
‘Depends on the situation,’ she replies, arching an eyebrow. His laugh is a rumble as he leans back in his seat.
‘OK, OK. Anyway. Sorry, you were saying – Spin,’ Cam says, resetting. He adds, ‘Whatever you need.’ Then he reaches forhis beer, the sodden napkin beneath it clinging to the bottom. Cam doesn’t seem to notice, pulling a long drink from the bottle, tipping his head back. Anika watches his throat muscles work as he swallows, suddenly parched herself. She gulps some water, then swaps it for her flute of Prosecco, taking another sip and then swirling the drink to agitate the bubbles. ‘How can I help?’ Cam asks on a slight exhalation as he finishes his swig and clunks the bottle, now drained by a third, back onto the table.
‘I want to go into my chat about this new role armed with some ideas. You’ve been at the station for four years, so you probably know the ins and outs of what I can get away with. The job is a curation thing, podcasts and late-night playlisting, so I’m nottooafraid to go left of centre, but I’d love to chat about what the boundaries might be for the station from your perspective. And I was thinking about suggesting, like, a series related to movie soundtracks – and that maybe even the first one could be to do with your film since you’re all Hollywood these days with the screenplay and whatnot.’
‘So they say!’ Cam replies, but not in a manner that suggests he disagrees. ‘I’ve got a little pen game, still. We’ll see how it goes.’ His eyes dance, ignited by her ideas.
‘Maybe we could have a quick chat about it sometime soon, if you have time to grab a coffee in the canteen or something? I’ve found it useful talking through ideas, plans, that kind of thing …’ She looks down with a slight smile, then looks up and locks eyes with Cam and his raised eyebrows. Sweat prickles her forehead and again Cam opens his mouth to speak, but stops abruptly with a sigh at the sound of his name being called from behind them.
‘Cam?’ A man’s baritone resonates across the lobby. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’
Cam turns his head reluctantly and stands again. Right behind the older man who was speaking is Shamz, striding quicklytowards Anika.
‘Neeks ’n’ Meeeeeks!’ she calls, one of her many customary greetings. ‘Sorry, babe. It’s like people try to cram a week’s worth of shit into my Friday evening when I’m trying to log off – it’s mad. Oh, yeah?’ she adds, nodding down at the glass of Prosecco as Anika rises to hug her friend. ‘Oh, yeah?’ she says again teasingly, lower in Anika’s ear. Shameeka pulls back from the hug to give a subtle nod towards Cam, who is glancing periodically at Anika as he speaks to the older man. She reaches down behind Anika and grabs the flute, draining the rest of her friend’s drink. ‘I need more of this, asap. Ready?’
‘Yep,’ Anika says. She’s a little frustrated at not having secured a time to discuss those ideas with Cam – but perhaps there’s no need to leave it at that.Or maybe you should. Maybe this is going to dredge up things that aren’t good for your plans to move forward .. . And yet Anika finds herself muttering, ‘Uh, one minute, babe.’
Her feet seem to move against her will over to where Cam is still chatting to the guy Anika assumes is Hervé. She moves to Cam’s side, feeling him track her movements. His arms are folded in front of him as he nods along to the other man’s animated speech. Without even considering the gesture, Anika reaches up and nestles her fingers lightly into the crook of one of Cam’s curved biceps. She feels it tense almost imperceptibly.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she says, glancing at his companion. Then she leans up towards Cam’s ear, lowering her voice. ‘Listen, are you about on Monday after your show? Maybe we could grab an early lunch and talk?’
The tone of her voice is laced with something that makes Cam turn to look at her, with that furrow back between his eyebrows. ‘Talk?’
Anika draws a quick breath, trying to brighten her voice. ‘Yeah. Um, about that stuff I mentioned about the job, if you’d be up forit? I’d be really grateful. I need some good potential ammo for my—’
‘For your pivot?’ Cam’s face is close as he looks down at her.
Anika laughs lightly, unnerved. ‘Yes.’
Cam stares at her, and suddenly a light goes on in his eyes. ‘OK, then, Ms Lapo. We should talk. Midday, Monday at the canteen.’
‘Great—’ Anika says, but Cam interrupts.
‘We can chat about ammo, pivots and …first kisses.’
Her eyes flick up and connect with his, and memories ricochet between the two of them. Anika feels like she’s forgotten how to breathe, in contrast to the rapid rise and fall of Cam’s chest. Blinking, he turns back to Hervé with the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, but his expression is quickly shaded by something knottier …Inevitably, Anika thinks.
Her fingers contract into a squeeze where they still rest on Cam’s arm, to congratulate him on his deduction perhaps. Or to ask a silent question she’s not been ready to articulate in all these years:Do you forgive me?
‘See you then … Kwame,’ she whispers to him. The slight pause in the flow of Cam’s speech is all she needs to know that she’s had the last word, even if it was as softly spoken as a breeze. Turning, she lets her fingers drop from his arm and makes her way back over to Shameeka, who is busily typing into her phone, but raises one eyebrow at her friend.
‘OK, so we’ll be dissectingthatin five,’ Shamz says.
